Messiah: The First Judgement (Chronicles of Brothers) (37 page)

‘But then, this is hell. There is no death, only torments ... And now, Nazarene, my prized ones...’

Moloch grabbed Jesus by the hair and swung His head violently to the right, beyond the great chasm. There was complete silence in the strange black gloom of the shadow lands. ‘My Master’s shadowed realm,’ Moloch growled.

Gradually, the black faded to a great grey darkness.

Lucifer’s voice dropped to a low, intimate tone. ‘The grave,’ he whispered in awe.

They rode slowly past the brazen gates of the monstrous great crystal barricades of the underworld – the dim outlines of the millions of men and women incarcerated in the murky ice lay as if in some strange slumbering limbo.

‘They are all who have fallen asleep since the beginning of the world,’ Charsoc whispered to Jesus. ‘All who worshipped
Yehovah
, Nazarene.’

‘They sleep the slumber of the righteous dead,’ Lucifer hissed, ‘
Never
to awaken in my domain.’

They passed thousands more of the floating slumbering bodies frozen into the sheer block of ice. Almost godlike in stature, even in their slumber, it was obvious that they were nearly seven feet tall, with angelic features and an unearthly glowing radiance that still issued from their bodies.

‘Souls from the times of Adam,’ gloated Charsoc. ‘The glory of the Race of Men has diminished through the centuries – a consequence of the fall.’

‘The glory of Perdition,’ Lucifer crowed. ‘His prophets, patriarchs, all who belong to Yehovah ... who belong to
You
, Nazarene –
all
under my jurisdiction. And when my time is up, according to my claim lodged in the councils of the First Heaven, each of them shall join me in the Lake of Fire.’

* * *

Over a hundred million of the First Heaven’s angelic warriors assembled on the sprawling bleak plains of Perdition, outside the Gates of Hell. Their armies stretched to the horizon in every direction.

Ahead of the vast angelic legions, positioned directly in front of the monstrous iron gates, rode Jether and the twenty-three ancient heavenly kings, mounted in a semicircle on their winged white chargers. Imperial and forbidding. Their lances flashed with the lightnings of Yehovah and were upraised in their right hands. In their left they held high the blazing crimson standards with the sign of the cross.

On either side of them marched the heralds, the ‘Proclaimers’, blowing their shofars, with the banners of the First Heaven lifted high. Following them came ten thousand Great White Knights, their battering-rams at the ready.

Directly behind them, led by Gabriel attired in full battle regalia, marched his vast company of swift and agile archers, the Revelators, in suits of gleaming silver armour.

Overhead flew a million of the Revelator scouts, filling the length and breadth of the skies – the First Heaven’s huge white-feathered warrior eagles. Around each eagle’s neck was a circlet of gold embedded with rubies: the warriors’ homing beacons.

Filling the plain to Gabriel’s right thundered Michael’s imperial knights mounted on their gold-caparisoned war stallions. Their gleaming broadswords were raised high, following the mighty commander of heaven’s armies.

Michael rode bareback on his enormous black war stallion, covered from head to toe in his ceremonial golden armour, the Sword of State raised high in his right hand.

Escorting him and his armies were the immense company of the White Winged Lions of Yehovah, their white manes glistening, their enormous white wings extended. Their thunderous roaring resounded across the plains and echoed through the penitentiaries of hell.

The Great and terrible Armies of the Lord.

* * *

Dagon galloped his charger towards Lucifer and Charsoc. ‘The First Heaven’s armies gather on the plains of Perdition, Your Majesty,’ he growled. ‘Your brothers, the great princes, lead them.’

‘Yes, yes...,’ Lucifer said dismissively. ‘I hear the roarings and commotion. We knew they would assemble.’ He smiled triumphantly at Charsoc. ‘We hold their
King
.’

‘They have no claim,’ Charsoc declared.

Lucifer nodded, grinning evilly. ‘Michael well knows that if they so much as set foot through my gates, they trespass according to Eternal Law ... And my brothers are
sticklers
for Eternal Law.’ He yawned. ‘Relay to my royal brother a message. Tell him I have a tomb specially prepared for the Nazarene: the black sepulchre.’

‘And
I
have one waiting for Michael!’ Moloch roared.

A mighty roar rose up from Moloch’s butchers. ‘Tear Prince Michael asunder!’ they howled.

Lucifer smiled. ‘Let us forget my brother’s torments for the moment. We have our prize – we hold their King.’

‘My Lord...,’ Moloch bellowed, his voice full of dark intent. ‘Permission for some sport, great king of hell.’ He bowed deeply, and Lucifer nodded. ‘We would bow before the Nazarene,’ he said, leering at Jesus. ‘We would crown Him King.’

A grotesque smile lit up Lucifer’s face. He nodded.

‘Let us crown the Nazarene King!’ Moloch roared. At this, a strident wail rose from the wort devourers, soon echoed by the depraved multitudes inside the hellish penitentiaries.

The grim procession slowed at the dark laboratories. A party of cackling, orange-haired, deformed dark younglings emerged from the vast, sweltering underground corridors carrying a cruel-looking iron contraption, still glowing-hot from the smelting cauldron, to Moloch. It was a twisted iron crown of thorns moulded in iron.

Lucifer nodded. ‘Crown the Nazarene, that He may be King of hell for a moment.’

Jeering laughter broke out anew among Moloch’s legions. Hysterical cackles and demented laughter broke out on every side as Moloch lifted the scorching crown in his brawny arms, high above Jesus.

‘Unbind His mouth, that we may hear the Nazarene’s screams of agony!’ Moloch roared. At once the vandals tore away the filthy cloths that gagged Jesus’ lips.

Moloch pushed the cruel, jagged hot iron thorns down savagely onto His captive’s skull.

An earth-shaking tremor shuddered, and at once the crystal road collapsed into the burning pitch, like a magnet sucking the armies of hell down into the orange flames. As volcanoes spurted white-hot infernos around them, Moloch hovered above the jagged remains of the crystal path. One by one, his twelve butchers fell, sucked down by the ferocious flames. Charsoc was flung facedown onto the road, his eye sockets burning, his body twisting in agony. ‘The Nazarene!’ he cried as a blinding flash illuminated the shadowed penitentiary of the grave.

Lucifer watched in horrified disbelief as the brazen gates at the entrance to the shadowed realm shattered, the iron bars of the penetentiaries smashed to smithereens. Jesus of Nazareth had vanished.
‘Where is the Nazarene?’
Lucifer screamed. ‘Mobilize hell’s armies. Take every general, each satanic prince, to the Black Palace. Post them at every entrance. Command Dagon ... Darsoc – safeguard the black necropolis. The Nazarene would commandeer the Ark of the Race of Men!’

He stared past Charsoc in horror as the slumbering inmates of the shadowed realm started to rouse inside their crystal prison. A blinding purple light flashed, illuminating the shadowlands as bright as a thousand thousand suns.

‘Do it now!’ he screamed, shielding his eyes as the iron penitentiary cliffs crumbled. ‘The Nazarene would overturn hell!’

* * *

The vast armies of the First Heaven stood at attention, waiting in silence. Michael rode to Jether and the ancient ones in front of hell’s gates. All twenty-four kings raised their white-crowned heads from their supplications.

Jether nodded to Michael.

Michael raised his hand, and a great, thunderous cry arose across the plains. ‘Storm the Gates of Hell!’ Michael cried. ‘Lucifer is
mine
!’

Chapter Forty

Warrior King

Jesus strode through the marble halls of Lucifer’s Black Palace, across the gleaming lapis floors, His imperial countenance set. His indigo robe billowed as He walked under the vast ornamental ceilings, past the sinister frescos that adorned the walls of Lucifer’s inner sanctum. He raised His silver lash of cords in His fist; instantly the two enormous black gates to Lucifer’s throne room flung open before Him.

Facing Him, a league away down the nave, in front of Lucifer’s empty glistening diamond throne, stood ninety ferocious warriors – Lucifer’s elite militia generals of the Black Horde. Dagon and his generals stared at Jesus in disbelieving dread.

Behind the throne lay a colossal black garnet altar, its gleaming surface covered with thousands of spluttering black tapers permeating the chamber with the aroma of pure frankincense. Above loomed an enormous translucent vortex of black crystal. Beyond the altar lay the Golden Gates of the Chamber of the Black Necropolis that housed the Ark of the Race of Men.

‘You trespass, Nazarene,’ hissed Mulciber. Thick yellow drool fell from his black tongue onto the crystal floor.

The vigilantes stared defiantly at Jesus, their broadswords raised, their pale straw-coloured eyes narrowed, their mangled faces contorted with evil. Snarling black yellow-eyed jaguars paced restlessly, chained to their depraved masters, their black fangs visible.

‘What do you want of us, Nazarene?’ Ramuel spat, his eyes glinting with iniquity. ‘We are the fallen – you have no place with us...’

Ramuel circled Jesus slowly like a wolf gauging its prey, his axe held high. Twenty of his gigantic minions joined him, their maces, cudgels, battle-axes, and cutlasses raised, their filthy braided black hair dangling past their thighs.

Jesus stood unmoving.

Dagon, towering a full head over his minions, shoved Mulciber and Ramuel out of his path. Fresh goat’s blood dripped from his mouth and nostrils. Leering at Jesus through his glazed pale eyes, he shoved his iron ball and chain under his enemy’s chin. Jesus deliberately unwound the lash. He could see Dagon’s reflection in the crystal floor.

‘Look at me when I speak, Nazarene!’ he bellowed. He screamed instructions in a guttral angelic tongue to his militia, raising his other hand, which held a cat-o’-nine-tails tipped with jagged glass and serrated iron.

He lifted Jesus’ head up, in line with his shoulder, but Jesus’ eyes remained lowered, intent on Dagon’s reflection.

Then Dagon swung his cat-o’-nine-tails, aiming straight for Jesus’ neck.

Jesus swung His lash towards Dagon’s whip and sent it clattering to the ground. The demonic horde laughed raucously.

‘Butcher the Nazarene!’ bellowed Dagon, lunging for Jesus with his sword.

Jesus swung His lash a second time. It tightened around Dagon’s brawny neck. He pulled it tighter, till Dagon staggered to the floor, retching for breath. Jesus raised His gaze, and Dagon clutched his eyes with his hands, screaming in agony. Then Jesus turned to face the fallen rebels as the packs of snarling black yellow-eyed jaguars leapt ferociously towards Him, their black fangs snarling.

Jesus signed towards them with one deft movement. The jaguars fell backward as one, whimpering, slinking away through the throne room gates.

‘The Nazarene’s sorceries!’ shrieked Mulciber.

Jesus gazed beyond the altar, past the dark sanctum, towards the chamber of the Black Necropolis.

Dagon followed his gaze. ‘Loose the hellhounds, Menelik!’ he screamed, writhing on the ground. ‘He seeks the Ark of the Race of Men!’

A skeletal creature with vampiric fangs released the lock on a huge iron cage, and fifty black hellhounds, each with five heads breathing fire from their nostrils, raced towards Jesus with bared fangs.

Jesus raised His hand. The snarling hellhounds sprang at Him, thrown back violently by the invisible shield surrounding Jesus. They fell, stunned to the floor, yelping.

Dagon clutched blindly for his sword, one hand still over his eye. ‘I shall destroy you, Nazarene,’ he snarled.

Jesus bent down and grasped him by the scruff of the neck, holding him off the floor till he screamed for breath. ‘You and your master, Satan, have no claim on Me!’

Jesus flung Dagon to the ground as Lucifer’s legions burst through the doorway. A thousand of Lucifer’s dark minions stormed towards the robed figure, brandishing their blades and snarling obscenities.

Jesus raised His right hand, and a scorching sheet of flame rose from the floor and descended onto the renegade angelic host.

‘The consuming fire!’ Ramuel screamed, flailing at his blistering hands.

Nerve-jangling screams resounded throughout the chamber as the fallen were caught by the scorching, consuming waves of fire, to fall, burning alive, onto the ground. Their weapons clattered uselessly on the lapis floor.

Finally, the great and terrible Dagon knelt, trembling in dread, before Jesus. He removed his helmet and held it at his chest, his head bowed. ‘We the fallen are conquered by You, O Nazarene.’ He held out his sword.

‘We are conquered by You,’ thousands of dark voices echoed.